Mischieve Managed?
by ascetor
Summary: Everyone knew Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were in a relationship. Everyone knew they got married. Everyone could see that they're in love. No one knew it hasn't been Hermione Granger after a few months into the marriage. Not even her best friends.


_A few days ago_

The dungeon was dripping with cold water. Cobwebs, and dusts filled the walls and ceilings. There was a faint, pungent smell surrounding the dungeons. The captor smirked in satisfaction and then slowly laid the unconscious brunette down on the grimy, chilly floor. It was a surprise that the witch did not awake at the sudden change in temparature.

"Have fun down here, Mudblood bitch. You and your precious spawn." The hooded figure spat at the unconscious witch. "No one will ever know about our secret."

The person threw a triumphant smirk at the girl on the floor and excited the dungeons. They locked the witch in and a trusted elf was assigned to watch over.

* * *

><p><em>Today<em>

Draco Malfoy sat on his couch whilst wondering what to do. His wife was out with Ginny Potter again, to buy some baby things. Draco was offered to follow, but purchasing baby products wasn't something that Malfoy men do. In addition to that, he didn't want to be there when his galleons are being spent.

Hermione's been spending a lot of money recently, which Draco found really odd, but he brushed it off as a self-indulge celebration. Despite that, there was still a nagging feeling behind his mind, as if something was wrong.

Sighing, Draco rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. He still couldn't believe he was becoming a parent. In around eight months' time.

* * *

><p><em>A few weeks ago.<em>

"Hermione?" Draco called as he looked about the long corridors of the manor. "Granger, where are you?"

"Right behind you." Her voice filled with laughter when he jumped slightly in shock and surprise. He then felt her arms snaking around her as she rubbed her cheek against his back. Draco turned around in her arms, curious as to where his wife just came out.

The library. He rolled his eyes.

"Draco," he frowned and looked at her because her voice shook. "Are you sure you want to give me that manor?"

He bit back a groan. They've gone through it a million times and it often got into an argument. He didn't want to go through it today, not when it's their sixth month wedding anniversary. It's the first six months they've gone through without attempting to hex each other. "Do you not like it?"

"No, no, no!" Hermione quickly reassured him. "I just… I was just thinking…I think you need to add a new room."

"Hermione, it's for your particular use. You don't need to ask for my permission." Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we kind of need a new room here as well…" she trailed off, blushing. "So I thought why not make them both at the same time."

"Why do we need a new room anyway?" Draco asked. "We have enough room as it is."

"Well…" Hermione reddened more and looked down. "I can't believe I don't know how to say this. Brightest witch of her generation, my arse. I'm pregnant." She quickly squeaked out the last bit and squeezed her eyes tight.

When Draco offered no reply, she opened an eye. "Oh no," she groaned. "You're not happy about this."

He faintly felt her removing herself from his arms and it hardly registered his mind that his wife was beyond worried about his reaction of the pregnancy.

Merlin. He'd never even thought of the possibility of being a father. It's not that he didn't want kids, but it's pretty unbelievable for him to be a father. Look at his father, Lucius Malfoy- a known Death Eater, very evil, hates muggle-borns and muggles, etc etc. What if he wasn't a good father? Oh bugger it all-

"Draco!" Hermione shouted, breaking his thoughts. "What do you want me to do? You don't look happy about this at all, I can't… I don't know…"

"A baby, Granger?" Draco whispered in disbelief, a small smirk making it's way to his face. "We're having a baby. We're having a-"

"Yes, I know-"

"YOU'RE WHAT?" Ginny Potter shrieked by their ears. To be honest, she was nowhere near them, but judging by the volume of her voice, it's pretty close. Draco cringed in reaction and pursed his lips. "Hermione Gran—Hermione Malfoy! How dare you! You weren't even bothered telling your best friend first!"

"He's my husband, Ginny." Hermione smiled weakly. The Weasley women should never be angered.

"I don't care." Ginny- yes, Draco called her by her name now- fumed and proceeded to pull his wife away from him.

He'd managed to steal a kiss from his wife before the two disappeared into the library. He'd also managed to mumble a quick, loving, "I love you" by her ear.

He caught her radiant smile and found himself smiling back just as the library door slammed shut.

* * *

><p><em>Back to present<em>

It's the only memory that kept her from giving up. It's been weeks since she was locked in who-knows-where. Hardly any food was given to her and not to mention shower. She didn't even know who captured her. She thought by now Draco or at least Harry and Ron would've found her by now. Yet, somehow, she knew it'd never happen. Hermione has a copy of Daily Prophet with her everyday. It's shrunk in her pockets, just in case she was bored or something like that.

It hurt when she read the title of the front page yesterday.

"_Hermione Malfoy expecting Malfoy heir!" _It read, and it had a photo of her and Draco in front of Three Broomsticks, smiling happily. She wasn't bothered to read the context that followed it. 'Funny,' Hermione bit bitterly. 'It's not actually me.' The picture was taken the day before they printed the paper.

Granted, it was telling the truth, but well, it wasn't her that made the front cover-not that she took pleasure in being the front cover. It's entirely her fault for being captured to somewhere like this for walking alone down the path to admire the natural beauty that surrounded the manor (She liked the view of the gardens and the path just before the manor came to view) It wasn't what bothered it. This other woman has been impersonating her for weeks and her own husband hadn't realised. This had made her suspect just how much her husband knew about her. Hermione sighed and curled on the floor, a hand on her still flat stomach. She couldn't believe she's going to go through this alone, without her husband, without her family, without her friends. Alone.

The first week there, she had tried to break out of the dungeons. Yet, every time she tried to cast a spell using wandless magic, it sent a searing pain in her head. They've fed her something. She was sure of it.

The second week, she tried to investigate the walls of the dungeons, hoping to find a catch, like the ones in Malfoy Manor when the Death Eaters held them hostage. Nothing, but she could faintly make out the elegantly carved 'M' on the wall close to the door. It made her heart heavy. Could Draco be the one behind it? Yet, after another visit from the hooded figure, the idea disappeared from her mind completely. Draco knew if Harry and Ron found out, they'd kill him and the person in front of her had long hair- it came out from under her, she assumed, and had quite a feminine voice.

Why in the world would Draco employ a woman to do something like that to his wife anyway? He didn't like it when women spent time in the dungeons because they screech and squeal too much at the sight of dust and spider webs. He didn't like the sharp, inhumane noises women makes. Hermione laughed quietly at the memory of Draco pulling a face when Ginny squealed after she found out Hermione was pregnant.

Yes, they all knew. They kept it a secret, only revealing to their friends until yesterday. Again, Hermione was frustrated over the subject. They'd agreed not to tell until they'd pass the first trimester! Obviously, the Hermione impersonator did not agree. 'I wonder what her reaction was when she found it.' Hermione mused.

"Possibly about to drink Firewhiskey." The dungeon's door had opened and the impersonator stepped in.

Hermione gulped. The person had searched her mind. Why hadn't she practice Occlumency?


End file.
